


Clinging To Stardust

by Diamond_Raven



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Captivity, Healing, M/M, Minor Violence, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Recovery, Strangers to Lovers, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 15:15:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29903025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diamond_Raven/pseuds/Diamond_Raven
Summary: When Lt. Arthur Pendragon is captured during the first battle of the Second Ealdor-Camelot War, he never thought he’d spend the next three years in an Ealdorian prison. He also never expected to fall in love with his Ealdorian cellmate, Merlin.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This story is complete and will be updated every Wednesday and Sunday.
> 
> 2\. I've tagged all the major themes but I don't provide trigger warnings for minor events. Feel free to email me if you'd like to ask whether specific things take place in this story or not.

A loud beep followed by the automated announcement over the prison’s loudspeakers nudges Arthur out of the doze he’s fallen into. The robotic voice announces in Ealdorian that it’s time for Block 17s decontamination.

If this were 4 months ago, Arthur would still be feeling proud of himself for having learned enough Ealdorian that he can understand what the announcement is saying. He’d spent hours lying on his stomach on the floor of his cubby, ignoring the ache in his elbows as he’d stayed propped up, reading through the information available on the dispenser at the back of his cubby. Tapping back and forth between the Ealdorian and Camelotian versions had allowed him to slowly learn a few basic Ealdorian words and phrases, along with numbers one through a thousand.

He’d felt so proud of himself the day when he’d understood an announcement declaring that the dispensers in Block 7, cubbies 738 through 765 were having technical difficulties and the prisoners in those cubbies should check the communication panels by the decontamination chamber to find out their new cubby numbers.

But then reality had sunk in. Again. Just like it had numerous times over the past four months.

Having been captured during the very first battle of the new Ealdor-Camelot War had been bad enough, but Arthur hadn’t even managed to do anything impressive before being captured. He hadn’t even managed to fire his weapons once. The training exercises and the hundreds of hours spent in simulators hadn’t done enough to prepare him for the reality of staring out through the front window of his fighter ship and locking his weapons on a ship carrying a young soldier who looked to be his own age, who was probably also fresh out of military training. The knowledge that this wasn’t a simulation and if he squeezed the trigger, the other soldier would die had hit him hard and left him frozen.

Arthur’s sure he would have gotten past that momentary shock and he would have ended that battle on a victorious note, which would have been the first major part of his own legacy. He would have been on his way to stepping out of his father’s shadow and creating a legacy that may have even eclipsed the one the Admiral had created during the First Ealdor-Camelot War, thirty years ago.

But that’s not what happened. Arthur’s stupid, momentary panic resulted in the Ealdorian soldier getting off a shot first. Maybe he’d been panicking too because the soldier hadn’t waited for a proper weapons lock before firing and Arthur’s ship had been hit, but the missiles had only grazed him.

Over the past four months, Arthur had wished over and over again that the missiles had blown his ship to pieces. Dying during the first battle hadn’t been part of his plans, but that would have been preferable to the utter humiliation of being captured and thrown into an Ealdorian prison cube floating in space.

When he’d first arrived at the prison, he’d still stubbornly clung to the hope that he could turn things around. That he could still do something heroic and amazing and make his father and Camelot proud. He’d arrogantly assumed that being Admiral Pendragon’s son would make him a prime target for interrogation and he’d mentally prepared to hold up under intense questioning and perhaps even torture.

But there hadn’t been an interrogation.

Unfortunately, it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out why not. Arthur’s just a Lieutenant. The only important information he’d ever received about the war had come when the alarm had started ringing on their battleship and Arthur had run to the hangar bay with the others. None of the Camelot officers in this prison have any important information.

Being Uther Pendragon’s son also holds no relevance. His father had retired five years ago and it had been Arthur who had pushed him to pull away from the stress that came with the military and find new activities to do in his retirement. The Ealdorian military absolutely doesn’t care about the former Admiral’s golfing schedule.

Realizing that he’s essentially a nobody as far as the Ealdorian military is concerned was a bitter pill to swallow. It had also made Arthur panic a bit because if he couldn’t prove himself during an interrogation, that didn’t leave him with many options.

His next thought was to find a way to escape from the prison. He’d carry out a daring but genius escape plan, he’d take hundreds of prisoners with him and victoriously arrive on Camelot as a hero. That plan had been even better than the interrogation one, so Arthur had thrown himself into figuring out how to get out of the prison.

During his initial transfer to the prison, Arthur had paid careful attention to everything and he remembers being both impressed and disheartened by the high security. They had come through multiple corridors and airlocks on their way into the prison. Each airlock required the retinal and handprint scans from two Ealdorian guards and each corridor was depressurized before and after their group passed through. But Arthur had been sure that the prison had other access points which had to be more vulnerable.

Unfortunately, Arthur quickly found out he was wrong once he’d gotten accustomed to the prison’s operations. There aren’t any guards stationed at the prison. There don’t need to be because everything is controlled remotely. Even technical issues are fixed using robots within the prison’s walls. So Arthur’s hopes of ever getting his hands on one Ealdorian guard, never mind two in order to open the airlock doors had faded away. And even if he could get the airlocks open by brute force and somehow get through the depressurized corridors...then what? He was stuck in a metal cube, floating in space, along with thousands of other prisoners.

Once his hopes of a daring escape had evaporated, Arthur was left frantically scrambling to come up with some other plan. Some other way to redeem himself and make his father and Camelot proud.

Since his first day in the prison, it had bothered him that he didn’t understand the Ealdorian messages that the automated system announced. It also became clear that the Ealdorian prisoners weren’t particularly invested in helping be translators, which gave Arthur a great idea. He could learn Ealdorian! He’d become fluent in no time and impress his father with his bilingual skills when he got back home.

The day he’d understood the announcement about the technical malfunctions in Block 7 had been a turning point, but not a good one. Arthur had been so thrilled at himself, until he’d stopped to think about what exactly he was proud of.

Why would his father or anybody on Camelot care that Arthur can count in Ealdorian?! They wouldn’t. In fact, his father would be ashamed that Arthur was celebrating such a ridiculous achievement. Uther had fought in a dozen battles and had over 40 kills during the first war...and Arthur spent the second war learning how to count in Ealdorian? It’s ridiculous.

It’s ridiculous and he’s pathetic.

That’s when Arthur had realized he had no options left. There’s nothing he can do to salvage his humiliating performance. All he can do is lie here in his cubby, day after day and wait until the war is over so he can quietly go back home with his head hanging in shame and face the harsh disappointment of his father.

* * *

He’s spending way too much time sleeping. It’s not a surprise because there’s nothing else to do. He should exercise more and maybe socialize with the other prisoners, but he can’t be bothered. What’s the point? It’s impossible to stay in peak physical condition with the meagre rations they’re given anyway and making friends with the other Camelot officers isn’t something Uther would be proud of.

Arthur acknowledges that spending most of his time sleeping is bad for his health, but he doesn’t have the energy to really care. That bitter disappointment over his horrible performance during battle clings to him and he can’t seem to get past it.

So he just sleeps. It’s easy to do because the prison doesn’t differentiate between night and day. The lights in the prison complex stay on all the time and prisoners can collect their water and food rations from their dispensers once every 30 hours, which Arthur assumes is meant to mimic Ealdor’s normal day cycle. The only times people have to adjust their personal schedules to match the prison’s is decontamination schedules. If somebody doesn’t show up for their assigned monthly decontamination, their dispenser will automatically lock for 60 hours. Since letting himself die from dehydration would leave behind an even more pathetic legacy than he’s already amassed, Arthur makes sure he drags himself out of his cubby at least for decontamination.

With his head lying on his crossed arms as he’s sprawled out on the floor, Arthur sleepily stares at the white cubby wall that’s just inches from his nose. Half-heartedly listening to the other prisoners talking and shouting in both Camelotian and Ealdorian is a soothing, continuous background noise and once again, Arthur’s slowly heading towards yet another nap.

A rhythmic metallic sound mingles with Arthur’s neighbour shouting down to somebody to ask if they’re going to finish their water packet. The metallic sound means somebody’s slowly climbing up the ladder that runs up the column containing Arthur’s cubby. It’s a sound he hears constantly as the prisoners living above him climb up and down the ladder. Despite passing just a few inches away from Arthur, he’s stopped caring. They never stop to say anything to him anyway, so the metallic ladder-climbing sound has also become background noise.

But this time, the person climbing up the ladder comes to a stop right in front of Arthur’s cubby. Their shadow shifts on the white wall that Arthur’s staring at. But it’s still not worthy of attention. There’s probably just a traffic jam on the ladder.

But then the person starts talking to him. Great.

The man says something in Ealdorian, which Arthur doesn’t understand. Not bothering to respond, Arthur lifts his wrist and shakes the silver ID bracelet that’s welded around his wrist, showing off the green lights on it.

“Oh, sorry. Uh...is this cubby 297?” It’s a surprise to hear the fluent Camelotian words. Most of the Ealdorian prisoners don’t speak Camelotian and because they’re all in an Ealdorian prison, there’s no expectation that they should make the effort to learn. The man has a strong accent, but his Camelotian is far better than most of the others.

But Arthur’s more focused on what the man had asked and faint annoyance creeps through him. If this idiot is trying to get Arthur to leave his cubby, he’s going to have a fight on his hands. Not that Arthur’s in any condition to do any fighting, but hopefully his adrenaline will kick in and help him. Even though the dispensers in each cubby are programmed to only respond to the prisoner bracelets who are assigned to that cubby, Arthur’s observed that some prisoners are bullying others out of the lower rows and only allowing them to access their old cubbies to get their rations.

But he won’t allow that to happen.

He’s already been re-assigned three times and now he’s on the 17 th  row. That’s high enough but at least it’s not the 35  th  row. Climbing up to his cubby already leaves him shaking and exhausted, so he doubts he’s physically capable of making it up to the 35  th  row. The electric safety shield on the ladder would keep Arthur’s hands and feet stuck to the rungs so he wouldn’t fall to his death, but he’ll just stay where he is, clinging to the rungs and creating a traffic jam for eternity. Or until he dies of dehydration. Once again, Arthur would be humiliating his father and Camelot, so that’s not happening. He’s staying in his cubby until the computer forces him back out by re-assigning him and locking him out of the dispenser.

Arthur shifts his jaw as that irritation grows stronger. “It’s my cubby and if you want a lower row, then ask for a re-assignment. You’re not getting me out of here without a fight.”

“Oh, no, no, I’m not wanting to fight. I’m just asking if I’ve got the right one.”

Why is this idiot still talking? Arthur turns his head and glares at the man blocking his cubby opening. He’s holding onto the ladder rung running along the top of the cubby opening and a quick glance at his bracelet shows red lights on it. That confirms Arthur’s suspicions that he’s Ealdorian, but that doesn’t change how stupid his question is.

Arthur glares at him. “Seeing how the cubby number is literally written an inch above where you’re currently staring, why don’t you tell me if you’ve got the right one?”

The man rolls his eyes and he looks a bit annoyed at Arthur’s attitude—an attitude that is completely justified!—but he has an annoying twinkle in his eyes that’s at odds with the darkness that’s made its home in Arthur’s body. “Well, aren’t you just a sprinkling star?”

The odd phrasing makes Arthur frown. “ _Sprinkling_ star?”

The man purses his lips and looks a bit embarrassed as he mutters an Ealdorian curse. It’s one that’s on Arthur’s tiny list of Ealdorian phrases that he knows. “Sorry, I forgot the right word.”

“It’s sparkling. A sparkling star.”

The man narrows his eyes at Arthur but his lips are pulled into a small smile. “Actually, I think I was right the first time. I was being sarcastic, but I like this better. Clearly, you’re more of a sprinkling star. Or more like a half-hearted sputter. Definitely not sparkling.”

Arthur can’t decide if the conversation is annoying or amusing. The Ealdorian man seems to have a sense of humour that he’s somehow managed to keep hold of, despite clearly not being new to the prison. The man’s completely bald, missing his eyebrows and his skin has that rough, reddish tint, which means he’s recently gone through decontamination. Since Arthur’s block isn’t due for decontamination for another week and his own hair has grown out into a short stubble, the man’s not from this block. But he looks oddly comfortable as he stands on the ladder—despite standing 17 rows from the floor below—and the skin beneath the bracelet on his wrist isn’t raw looking, which means he’s been wearing it for a while. Not to mention that his face looks pale and gaunt, a clear sign of somebody who hasn’t been getting enough to eat, which is how everybody in the prison looks after a few months. The man also has a bruise on his cheek, which could have many explanations. Maybe he’s been in a fight? Or he’s clumsy and bashed his face into the ladder while climbing?

But no matter how amusing the analysis and conversation are, Arthur’s feeling tired and it’s high time to get back to his napping. “Now that it’s clear that I don’t have to help confirm what the number of my cubby is, I have an important nap to get back to, so I’d appreciate it if you continue on your way and leave me in peace.”

The man looks a bit upset. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to introduce myself. I’ve been re-assigned from Block 18 and I’m your new cubbymate.”

Arthur’s heart sinks. In his four months at the prison, he’s only had to share his tiny cubby space once, despite being in Block 3 and having been among the first group of prisoners brought to the prison. The prison’s enormous so people were rarely forced to share, even as the prison slowly filled up as the months passed. But in recent weeks, Arthur’s noticed that more people are being paired up. The cylindrical tube is wide enough for Arthur but sharing the space with another person would make sleeping on the plastic floor even more uncomfortable.

Arthur’s previous cubbymate had been Ealdorian as well, and the man had taken one look at the green lights glowing on Arthur’s bracelet before glaring at him and climbing right back down the ladder and stomping off to presumably ask the computer for a re-assignment.

As more and more cubbies around him had become inhabited by two people, Arthur kept hoping that he’d be spared or at least, he’d be paired up with a Camelotian. Hopefully somebody who’s the same rank as him and doesn’t know who Arthur’s father is.

But once again, the universe is having a laugh at Arthur’s expense and it seems he’s been assigned yet another Ealdorian cubbymate. But by now, Arthur’s become accustomed to his routine and having his own space. This entire disaster has already become as bad as it possibly can get, so Arthur doesn’t hesitate before giving in the urge to be rude and do what his former cubbymate had done, but in reverse. “I’m not keen on sharing,” he spits out. “You can sleep in an empty cubby further up and come in to get your rations.”

Adrenaline simmers through him and he readies himself for an argument. But to his surprise, the man doesn’t get angry. Instead, his face falls and he looks sad. “Oh,” the man says softly. Then he pastes a strained smile on his face. “It’s because I’m Ealdorian, right?”

That makes Arthur frown because he doesn’t like those implications. “I’m not racist.”

“I didn’t call you racist.”

“Clearly, that’s what you implied. I don’t care if you’re Ealdorian or a chunk of an asteroid. I don’t want to share my cubby.”

The man stares at him and his jaw shifts, as if he doesn’t know what to say. He still looks sad about the situation and Arthur starts feeling guilty. Damn it. His eyes are also being drawn to the bruise on the man’s cheek, which isn’t helping.

Making matters even worse, the man continues trying to find common ground, despite Arthur being horrible. “What if...what if I only stay in the cubby to sleep and get my rations? We can take turns. You can always wake me up as soon as you want to get back in and I’ll leave.” He sounds desperate. “Please? The computer re-assigned me in Block 18 four times and things are getting worse over there. I really want to stay in Block 3. I’ll even sleep on the floor outside, just please let me stay assigned here.”

Arthur stares at him and the pleading look in the man’s eyes—along with the bruise on his cheek—finally pushes aside the last bit of the hateful selfishness that’s been clinging to him. He sighs softly. “Fine, you can stay. And forget about taking shifts or sleeping outside.”

The man’s face lights up in a bright grin that looks odd with his complete lack of facial hair and also because Arthur hasn’t seen anybody smiling like that in four months. He excitedly thanks Arthur in Ealdorian, probably not even realizing it.

Arthur actually finds himself smiling back. It feels weird to smile, like his face has forgotten how to do it. “You’re welcome.”

Then they stare at each other for another moment, until the man shifts on the ladder and glances below him. That familiar metallic clanging sound carries up to them. “Do you mind if I come in? Somebody’s trying to come up.”

Sliding across the white surface beneath him, Arthur shifts against the curved wall as much as he can. He considers turning to face the wall but then decides to stay facing his new cubbymate. Their conversation is tiring, but Arthur’s finding it more amusing than the endless napping. To his surprise, the curved wall he’s leaning against isn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it would be.

His new cubbymate’s still grinning as he hauls his bare feet up into the cubby and carefully slides in next to Arthur, making himself comfortable against the opposite curved wall. There are about 6 inches of space left between them and the man’s completely stiff, probably doing his best not to encroach on that space and risk annoying Arthur.

Arthur snorts as he makes himself comfortable, resting the side of his head on his arm, his silver bracelet pressing against his temple and the green lights dancing around in the corner of his eyes. “You should take a breath. I don’t need you dying on me and leaving me with a body to deal with.”

The man chuckles but slightly relaxes, sliding a bit closer to Arthur. “Don’t fancy dragging me all the way down to the disposal airlock?”

“If it were close by, no. But dragging your body all the way down to Block 20? That would be rude of you.”

That makes the man burst into laughter and this time, Arthur actually finds himself grinning back. This is the most alive he’s felt in months and that’s ridiculous because he doesn’t know a thing about this man, not even his name. He should get that sorted. “Lieutenant Arthur Pendragon,” he says, sticking the hand that he’s not lying on across the small space between them.

The man smiles and reaches out to shake his hand, the red lights on his bracelet as bright as his eyes. “Captain Merlin Emrys. Except not in a military sense, so don’t worry, I can’t order you around.”

Arthur laughs. “As if I’d ever listen to an Ealdorian anyway.”

Merlin shrugs, but he’s still grinning. “That’s your loss.”

“Is it though?”

That makes Merlin laugh. “I’ve never met a Camey with a sense of humour. I like you, Lieutenant Silly Dragon.”

Arthur frowns, confused. “It’s Pendragon.”

Merlin frowns back at him, looking equally confused. “That’s what I said.”

“Uh. No?”

“Uh. Yes? Pen means silly in Ealdorian. So that’s literally your name. Silly dragon. Lieutenant Arthur Silly Dragon.”

Arthur should be offended, but he’s too distracted by how much he’s enjoying the conversation. But he still directs a mock-glare towards Merlin. “I’ll have you know that my family name has a long and proud history on Camelot. My father’s a retired Admiral and he fought in the first war.”

Merlin’s eyes grow big, but there’s a smirk on his face. “Oh! There’s an Admiral Silly Dragon?! Fantastic!”

And that’s when Arthur dissolves into laughter. Maybe having a cubbymate won’t be so bad after all.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m starving,” Merlin mumbles, then glances at Arthur. “Do you mind if I turn around?”

Arthur rolls his eyes as he squishes himself further back against the wall. “I don’t own the place.”

That makes Merlin smile. It has a hint of relief in it, which makes Arthur feel a bit guilty again and makes him glance at the bruise on Merlin’s cheek again. He makes the determination right then and there to be a better cubbymate going forward. Whatever’s going on in Block 18, Arthur won’t allow it to happen in Block 3. Or at least, not in cubby 297.

Merlin slides far enough out of the cubby to glance up and down the ladder to ensure nobody’s about to step on him. Then he grabs the upper rung and pulls his legs out before sliding head first back inside to reach the dispenser on the back wall.

Arthur rolls onto his back for some variety and waits to hear the dispenser giving Merlin his packets. Unfortunately, all Arthur hears is an unhappy beep from the machine. It’s followed by Merlin cursing in Ealdorian and trying again. But each time, his attempts are greeted by an unhappy beep and the machine’s refusal to give him his food and water.

Sighing loudly, Merlin lets out a groan. “The stupid computer hasn’t finished updating. It’s not recognizing my ID yet.”

Arthur doesn’t even think before offering a solution. “I’ll give you one of my water rations and we can share my food.”

“What?! You don’t have to do that! I’ll be fine. I’ll keep trying.”

Ignoring Merlin’s protests, Arthur slides forward so he can turn around and get to the dispenser. Once he’s propped up on his elbows next to Merlin, he stretches out his wrist but Merlin’s making a face and covers the dispenser sensor with his hand. “You don’t have to share with me.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “That’s obvious. But there’s no rule that I can’t, so I will. Move.”

Merlin stares at him and there’s an unreadable expression in his eyes. Even after four months, it’s still strange to look at a completely hairless face. He’d never noticed how much people’s eyebrows are part of their body language until he’d become surrounded by people who don’t have any. But Merlin seems to be going through multiple emotions anyway and Arthur doesn’t think him having eyebrows would help decipher them.

“Arthur...”

Pushing Merlin’s hand off the sensor, Arthur presses his bracelet against it before they get into fisticuffs in the cramped space. The dispenser makes a happy sound and Ealdorian words appear on the screen, asking him how many rations he’d like.

“I’m fine with just having sips from your water packet,” Merlin says.

Ignoring him, Arthur tells the computer that he wants two water packets and his food packet. After another cheerful beep, a small square part of the wall slides upwards to reveal the three plastic pouches. Pulling them out before the door slides shut, Arthur shoves a water packet and the food pouch towards Merlin. “The water’s yours and we’ll share the food. Once the computer’s recognizing your ID, we’ll share until we’re even.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

Ignoring Merlin again, Arthur wriggles backwards while clutching his water pouch. Once his feet are on the lower ladder rung, he re-arranges himself and slides back in feet first. He understands it’s more economical to have tiny cubbies so more prisoners can be crammed into the prison, but it’s bloody annoying that the cubbies aren’t big enough for them to even sit up. But after four months, he’s getting strangely accustomed to it.

Merlin’s still where he is, chewing on his lower lip and he looks a bit overwhelmed, which is stupid. Arthur’s not going to let his new cubbymate starve or suffer from dehydration if he has rations to share. Besides, Arthur hasn’t been very hungry lately and he rarely finishes his food anyway. But that feels a bit too personal to share with somebody he’s known for less than an hour.

Glancing down at Merlin, Arthur unscrews the plastic nub on the water packet until it’s loose enough for him to drink. He’s careful not to rip the nub off. Every single packet and every part of the packet has to be returned to the dispenser or the computer will refuse to give him his next rations.

Sticking the nub into his mouth, he sucks on the water and lifts his bare foot to nudge Merlin in the chest. Swallowing, he raises his eyebrow at him. He’s sure it would be more effective if he had more than a bit of stubble as an eyebrow. “Come on, get back up here. I’m hungry.”

Merlin’s quiet as he shoves his two pouches down to Arthur and slides out and back in. Once they’re face to face, Merlin’s hand hesitates over the food pouch, filled with the grey goop that supposedly has enough nutritional value that they won’t starve to death. “Are you sure?”

Taking another sip of water, Arthur stares at Merlin’s shaking hand and how hungry he looks. It’s another sign that whatever’s going on in Block 18, it’s not good. “Of course I’m sure. You’re in Block 3 now. We’re not Block 18. Go on.”

A brilliant smile lights up Merlin’s face as he carefully opens the nub on the food pouch and thanks Arthur in a stream of Ealdorian. He has a few mouthfuls of the paste before sliding it across the 6 inches between them. “Your turn.”

Although he’s not very hungry, Arthur decides Merlin will probably fuss if he refuses and Merlin might even refuse to keep eating. He seems like the sort who would fuss over something like that. Since Arthur hasn’t done enough napping today, he’s a bit tired and not in the mood to argue. It’s easier to grab the pouch and have a mouthful of flavourless goop before passing it back to Merlin.

* * *

The next morning, the computer’s finally recognizing Merlin’s ID and he happily gives Arthur a water pack and shares his food pouch with him. It doesn’t sit right with Arthur that later on, he’ll have access to his own food pouch when Merlin’s only had half for the day, so he decides they’ll keep on sharing. But there’s no reason to tell Merlin that right now because it’ll lead to fussing.

Once they’ve had a bit to eat, Merlin leaves the food pouch with Arthur and stuffs his water packet into the waistband of his grey uniform trousers and climbs out of the cubby, saying he’ll be back soon.

Curious to see what Merlin’s up to, Arthur slides forward and props his chin on his crossed arms as he watches Merlin climbing down. Once he’s reached the ground, Merlin starts doing ridiculous looking stretches and flails his arms and legs about as he twirls in different directions and nearly smacks several other prisoners in the face. Unfortunately, that doesn’t deter him. He finds himself some empty space in the block corridor and continues doing his strange twirling and flailing routine.

Arthur frowns down at him and he can’t decide if he’s amused or embarrassed. It appears his cubbymate is a lunatic. “Merlin, are you drunk?” he calls down.

Merlin stops mid-twirl and rolls his eyes up at him. “I’m exercising!”

“Exercise? Is that what you’re calling it? I thought you might be having a seizure. Or there was a massive mix up in the prison’s supply order and your water packet’s full of alcohol.”

Muttering something that’s too quiet to reach Arthur on the 17th row, Merlin finally shoots him a mock-glare. “Well, excuse me, Lieutenant Silly Dragon. Not all of us come from a military background and know how to exercise properly. I’m doing my best.”

“Your best looks ridiculous.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Arthur feels a bit guilty again. He’s supposed to be behaving better but it seems his grumpy attitude is still clinging to him.

Thankfully, Merlin takes it in stride. “If you’d like me to look less ridiculous, you should come down here and show me how to do it properly.”

On one hand, Arthur doesn’t have the energy to go down there and exercise. He’d rather have a nap while he can stretch out in the cubby. But on the other hand, he can see other prisoners laughing at Merlin and that doesn’t sit right with him. Stuffing his water pouch into his trousers, Arthur slides out of the cubby and climbs down the ladder, making a face at the cool metal of the ladder rungs on his bare feet.

Once he’s on the ground, he pads across the grey rubber floor to Merlin. “First of all, no twirling and no flailing.”

Merlin’s grinning, but he nods and tries to look serious. He fails, but he’s trying. “Yes, sir.”

Arthur sighs. If he wasn’t sure before that the universe had assigned Merlin to his cubby to have a laugh, he’s lost any doubt by now. But there’s no use dwelling on that. Instead, he starts demonstrating how to stretch properly and carefully monitoring Merlin to make sure he does it right. The idiot can’t seem to copy the most basic formations and after watching several ridiculous attempts, Arthur sighs and reaches for his arm to correct him. Unfortunately, Merlin flinches and throws up his arms as if to protect himself.

The defensive reaction confuses Arthur for a moment, until his eyes are drawn to the bruise on Merlin’s cheek again. Something dark coils in his gut and Arthur lowers his hand and takes a careful step back. “I wasn’t going to hit you. I wanted to correct the horrid contortion you’re trying to pass off as the proper stretch.”

Merlin lowers his arms and stares at Arthur, looking wary and his jaw clenched. “Oh.”

Arthur stares at him. “I told you, we don’t do things the way they do in Block 18. Or at least, I don’t. But if you don’t want me touching you, that’s alright. Try to copy what I’m doing.”

Pressing his lips together, Merlin stares at him for a moment, then he straightens up and attempts the stretch again. “If you manhandling me will make you stop fussing, I’ll put up with it.”

Normally, those words wouldn’t be reassuring, but Merlin’s got a cheeky smile on his face as he says them, so Arthur carefully reaches out and gently pulls Merlin’s arms and tugs on his grey trousers until he’s stretching properly.

They move through several stretches with Arthur correcting Merlin’s stance and doing the count for how long they should hold the stretch. By the third stretch, Merlin’s no longer flinching as hard when Arthur touches him, so he thinks that’s progress.

It turns out that correcting Merlin is a good distraction because Arthur’s body is protesting the sudden introduction of exercise after having lazed around for weeks and he’s already sore and tired by the time they’re done stretching.

That’s pathetic and Arthur refuses to pay his stupid body any mind. Instead, he informs Merlin that they’ll go for a slow jog up and down the corridor, stopping at both ends to do a few push ups. To his surprise, Merlin doesn’t fuss and eagerly follows along. His push ups are pathetic and Arthur does more grousing, correcting and demonstrating.

By the time they’ve jogged up and down the corridor a few times, Arthur’s body is telling him that it’s definitely finished for the day, regardless of what his opinion is. He’s trembling, gasping for breath and he’s sweat through his grey uniform shirt, despite having rolled up the sleeves and constantly lifting it to fan himself. It’s a good thing he’d brought his water pouch along because he ends up finishing nearly all of it. Thank goodness he has two more packets left for the day.

It’s embarrassing that Merlin doesn’t seem nearly as exhausted as Arthur, but he randomly declares that he’s tired right when Arthur’s about to drop dead. In an effort to finish the exercise properly, Arthur leads them through some cool down stretches. That provides enough time for his heart to stop trying to pound out of his chest and for his body to stop shaking quite so hard so when he climbs back up the ladder, he doesn’t end up embarrassing himself.

Once they’re back in their cubby, Arthur can barely keep his eyes open but he’s so embarrassed over how badly out of shape he is that he’s determined not to give in and have the nap that his body so desperately wants to have. Thankfully, Merlin shoots him a tired looking smile and declares that Camey military exercise is a lot more difficult than he thought it would be and he’s going to have a nap.

Arthur mumbles something about Merlin being an embarrassment but he’s not sure if he ever finishes the sentence before his eyes are dropping shut and he’s falling asleep.

* * *

“Come on, one more round,” Arthur gasps. His arms are trembling but he doesn’t feel like he’s about to collapse in a heap. Since he’s taken upon himself to monitor Merlin’s exercise routine every day so his cubbymate stops being laughed at by the entire block, his own strength is slowly returning, which is an unintended but nice side effect.

Merlin’s sweating and leaning against the ladder that they’ve been using for pull up exercises. “I can’t feel my arms,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to use your arms if we’re jogging around the block.”

Merlin mumbles in Ealdorian that he can’t. When Merlin’s tired and sore, he tends to use his native language a lot so Arthur’s picked up a few more words over the past week.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I know you can. We’ll go slow, alright?”

Shooting Arthur a murderous look that he ignores, Merlin holds out a hand and demands water in Ealdorian.

Arthur hands over the water pouch and Merlin takes a few sips while Arthur stretches out his aching arms. Sharing their packets all the time comes with the convenience that they can take turns carrying the pouches and always have plenty more waiting in the dispenser.

Screwing the nub closed, Merlin stuffs the pouch into his trousers and lets out a sigh as he pushes off the ladder. “Alright, let’s go. But you promised we’ll go slow.”

“And we will.”

Merlin shoots him a distrustful look and says the word ‘slow’ in Ealdorian. It’s an order, not a question.

Arthur nods and repeats the word. Then he switches back to Camelotian. “And you can have a nap once we’re done.”

“I don’t need a nap. I need food.”

“We’ll have lunch when we’re done. Come on, one more round.”

Arthur waits for Merlin to stretch his arms and then off they go, doing a slow jog around the corridor, dodging around other prisoners as their bare feet thump on the rubber floor.

* * *

“So explain something to me,” Arthur says as they’re lying on their backs in their cubby.

“Hmm?” Merlin says, swallowing a mouthful of goop as he hands the pouch over to Arthur.

Taking the packet, Arthur holds it to his chest as he studies the white ceiling above him. “I understand why I’m here, but what did you do to get locked up in an Ealdorian prison? I didn’t realize Ealdor was using this complex for their normal prisoners too.” He slides the nub between his lips and sucks up a mouthful.

“They’re not. Everybody in here is related to the war in some way. Technically, we’re all here for the same reason.”

Arthur swallows and hands the pouch back as he frowns. “Did you fire on your own people?”

“Not directly, no, but all of us have impeded Ealdor’s war effort in some way. I had a cargo ship and I was a cargo runner going back and forth between Ealdor and Camelot.”

That’s interesting. That also explains Merlin’s Captain title. Arthur feels a bit ashamed that he’d assumed Merlin had been joking when he’d introduced himself as a Captain. “Is that why your Camelotian’s so good?”

“Uh huh,” Merlin mumbles, his mouth full before he swallows and hands the pouch over. “I grew up in a tiny village and I didn’t fancy spending the rest of my life being a farmer. After I got my own ship and an interstellar transport licence, I realized how many Cameys don’t speak Ealdorian and they expect anybody they deal with to be fluent in Camelotian. I knew I’d get a lot more contracts if I could speak both, so I taught myself.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows and glances at Merlin. “That’s fantastic. I can’t believe you’re self-taught.”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s not that hard. Camelotian’s easier than Ealdorian. Anyway, once the war started, the government said that all commercial vessels had to join the war effort and I refused.”

Arthur’s eyebrows climb even higher. “You chose to go to prison rather than haul around supplies for the military?”

“Yes, out of principle. I don’t agree with the war and I wasn’t going to let them force me into it. So here I am.”

After taking one last mouthful, Arthur carefully screws the nub back into place and puts the pouch down between them. The pouch is still half full and they’ll eat the rest in a few hours. Eating small amounts frequently helps trick their stomachs into being more content.

“So what about you?” Merlin asks as he rolls onto his stomach and pillows his face on his arms. The red lights on his bracelet are glowing as he looks at Arthur. “Asides from your obvious crime of being a Camey, how did you end up here?”

Arthur’s gut clenches with embarrassment. Merlin’s presence has nicely distracted Arthur from remembering why he’s here and that there’s a whole universe outside of this prison cube but now it all comes rushing back. “I got captured,” he mumbles.

Merlin snorts. “Thank you for stating the obvious, Lieutenant Silly Dragon. I was hoping to get a few more details.” Then he frowns a bit. “But it’s alright if you don’t want to share. It must have been traumatic.”

Clenching his jaw, Arthur keeps staring up at the ceiling because he can’t look at Merlin. “It wasn’t traumatic, just humiliating. I’d graduated from the military academy a month before the war started and I got assigned to a battleship close to the asteroid field. But I got captured during the very first battle. I didn’t even manage to fire my weapons before my vessel was hit and then I got caught in the Ealdorian battleship’s reeling beam and it was all over.”

“Was your ship malfunctioning? You know that’s not your fault.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Arthur tries to push back that dark self-loathing that has been slowly fading but is now rushing back. “No, the ship was fine. The only thing malfunctioning was me.”

Merlin’s propped his head on his fist and he’s frowning at him. Arthur can see it out of the corner of his eye but he’s still flushed with shame and can’t look at him directly. “It was your first battle.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’d passed all the simulation tests with high marks and everybody was expecting me to do something amazing. I’m a Pendragon. The Admiral’s son. I attended the best schools and I had private tutoring from some of the most respected soldiers Camelot had ever seen. My father even had a flight simulator built in our home so I could practice,” he says quietly, that self-loathing making the words thick in his throat. “And when it was finally time for me to show what all this privilege and special help had provided...all I did was sit there, frozen. Then I got swept up with the rest of the space rubbish and shoved in here.”

He wants to continue the metaphor and call the prison a rubbish bin where all the useless, pathetic people have been put. But that’s not true of people like Merlin, who are here for noble reasons.

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Merlin says, still frowning down at him. “No flight simulator could ever prepare you for actually being out there and having to kill somebody who you can see with your own eyes.”

Arthur sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, that darkness seeping through him and making his stomach twist. “I was as prepared as anybody could possibly get. My father had two kills during his first battle and my grandfather never built him a simulator at home or hired him private tutors.”

It occurs to Arthur that perhaps he should be a little more tactful because they’re talking about how pathetic Arthur is for _not_ having killed Merlin’s people. But he’s too annoyed at himself to worry about that. Besides, Merlin doesn’t seem disturbed by the topic. In fact, he’s still trying to cheer Arthur up.

“I still think you’re being too hard on yourself. I’m sure you would have done very well if you had been given a bit more time.”

“I had twenty years to prepare. How much more time do you think I needed?!”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

Arthur’s had enough. “Just stop. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change the past. I’m a pathetic failure and once the war is over, I’ll have to go home and face my father’s disappointment.”

“I’m sure the Admiral will be thrilled to have his son back and nothing else will matter.”

Sighing loudly, Arthur bites back the urge to yell at him. Merlin’s being his usual kind self but he doesn’t know his father. Arthur rolls away from him. “I’m going to have a nap.”

“Arthur—”

Arthur’s temper snaps. “Stop trying to shove your worthless opinion into this! You don’t know a thing about Camelot or my family so you need to mind your own bloody business.”

That makes Merlin fall into silence. A few moments later, Merlin’s sliding out of the cubby and Arthur’s heart squeezes. That dark self-hate is still digging its claws into him, but now it’s gotten even worse. Not only is Arthur pathetic but now he’s hurt an innocent person. A friend. That’s not who he is. Well, he _is_ pathetic, but he’s not going to become a person who hurts his friends, especially somebody who was just trying to cheer him up. Merlin’s completely wrong about the entire situation of course, but that’s not Merlin’s fault. He doesn’t know what it means to be a Pendragon and he doesn’t know Uther, but Arthur shouldn’t hold that against him.

He listens to Merlin climbing down the ladder. Arthur can practically hear the sadness radiating through each step and it’s making his heartache even worse.

Mentally cursing at himself, he rolls over and quickly slides out of the cubby and climbs down the ladder, following Merlin. He reaches the ground and scans through the prisoners wandering around the corridor. It’s difficult to identify people from behind when they’re all bald and dressed the same, but he recognizes the sad slump of Merlin’s shoulders and hurries after him.

Once he’s reached him, Arthur darts in front of him. “I’m sorry.”

Merlin stops walking and stares at him, his eyes sad. He doesn’t say anything.

Arthur’s heart pounds. He needs to fix this. He’s known Merlin for such a short time, but this relationship is all he has and he hates the thought that he’s made Merlin look so sad. An idea occurs to him. “How do you say ‘I’m sorry’ in Ealdorian?”

“You shouldn't be speaking to me. I might share more of my worthless opinions with you.” The words are sad but hard with bitterness. Every word feels like a punch to the gut, but Arthur deserves it and allows every blow to land.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur says softly. “I’m a silly dragon, as we’ve established. And a pathetic dragon. But mostly a silly dragon. I was wrong to lash out like that.”

Merlin’s jaw shifts as he stares at Arthur. “If I forgive you, you have to promise me something.”

“Anything.” To his surprise, Arthur means it.

“It’s fine if you’re in a bad mood and if you don’t want to talk about something, but I won’t put up with you taking your anger out on me.”

Arthur nods frantically. “Of course. It won’t happen again, I’m sorry.”

Merlin gives him a hard look. Finally, he says a short phrase in Ealdorian. Not understanding what it meant, Arthur stares at him blankly.

“You asked me how to apologize in Ealdorian. That’s how.”

Nodding, Arthur mumbles the phrase a bunch of times, committing it to memory. Then he straightens up and says it again, putting as much sincerity into it as he can.

A faint smile flickers over Merlin’s face. “I accept your apology. But I’d prefer if you didn’t have to use that phrase too much.”

“I won’t, I promise.”

He’s determined to keep that promise.

* * *

“Five...” Arthur pants out, pushing himself up to complete another push-up as he glances at Merlin next to him to make sure he’s doing them properly. He’s happy to note that Merlin’s form has definitely improved. A month of exercising properly seems to have had a positive impact on both of them. “Four...three...two...and one more...good.”

With a groan, Merlin lets his arms collapse and sprawls out on the floor while Arthur sits up and stretches his sore arms. “Come on, Merlin. Sit up and stretch your arms.”

With a grumble, Merlin sits up and copies the stretching exercises Arthur’s doing.

“Alright, now get up and we’re going to do lunges all the way down the corridor.”

“Yes, sir,” Merlin mumbles, wiping sweat off his face with his shirt as he stands up, puts his hands on his hips and gets into position.

Arthur inspects his posture and nods. “Good. Nice and straight back the entire time, arms stay on the hips. Ready?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here we go. And...down...and up…and down...and up...good, that’s very good...down...and up...”

When they get to the end of the corridor and they both sit down to give their aching legs a break, they pass the water pouch back and forth between them as a shadow falls over them. Arthur glances up and sees a tall man hovering over them. Since Merlin’s sprawled out on his back with his eyes closed, it’s instinct for Arthur to scramble to his feet and put himself between Merlin and this stranger. Nobody’s going to put any more bruises on Merlin if Arthur’s in a position to stop it.

Once he’s standing, Arthur inspects the newcomer. His bracelet has green lights on it and he looks nervous, which is odd.

“Can I help you?” Arthur asks, the words coming out harsher than he’d meant, but he can’t help it. The newcomer is a foot taller and wider than Arthur and the amount of muscle he still has indicates he hasn’t been in the prison long. He’s clearly a threat and Merlin’s still sprawled out on the floor behind him, moaning about how sore his legs are. The desire to keep Merlin safe is making Arthur’s stomach clench as adrenaline floods through him.

The man still looks nervous. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“You’re not,” Merlin mumbles. “I’m not moving for at least three minutes. I don’t care what Lieutenant Silly Dragon’s orders are.”

Arthur doesn’t smile and keeps staring at the stranger, ready for whatever he’s about to do.

The man must see the expression on Arthur’s face because he takes a careful step back and lifts his hands slowly. “I’m not here to cause trouble, I promise. I was just wondering if I could join you two.”

The words and the man’s actions make Arthur calm down a bit, but now he’s left confused. “Join us?”

“For your exercise. I see you both everyday and it’s lonely exercising by myself. Of course, I understand if you’d rather keep it a private affair. I figured there’s no harm in asking.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, waiting for his opinion. The man hadn’t responded aggressively to Arthur and he seems genuine. It seems he truly just wants to join them for exercise. As far as Arthur’s concerned, he likes the idea of having new people join. He adores spending time with Merlin but expanding their social circle might be good. But this man’s Camelotian and Arthur doesn’t want to put Merlin into an uncomfortable situation. Then again, the man had approached them and he’s clearly not blind so he must have noticed the red lights on Merlin’s bracelet.

Merlin’s opened his eyes and he gives Arthur a tiny nod. That’s good enough for Arthur and he sticks his hand out. “We’d be happy to have you join us. My name’s Arthur and the wonderful person sprawled out on the floor is my cubbymate, Merlin. I’m sure he’ll manage to get himself off the floor at some point to introduce himself properly.”

Arthur deliberately doesn’t use his rank or surname when introducing himself.

The man laughs, his eyes having lit up as he enthusiastically shakes Arthur’s hand. “Percival. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Thank you for letting me join.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Percival. Did you want to join us today? We’re just about to start our second round.”

Merlin lets out a dramatic sob, making Arthur and Percival both laugh. Arthur steps closer to Merlin and bends down, holding out his hands. “Come on, up you get.”

Muttering Ealdorian curses, Merlin reaches up and grabs Arthur’s hands and lets himself get hauled to his feet. Once Merlin’s introduced himself to Percival too, Arthur goes over the plan he’d made for their second exercise round. Then they’re off, jogging down the corridor towards column 20s ladder where they’ll stop to do some jumping exercises.

* * *

It turns out that Percival wasn’t the only one who was eager to join Merlin and Arthur’s exercise routine. Most of the people who join are military Camelotians so Arthur’s under no delusions that they look up to him as some type of exercise authority. He’s taking them through the same drills that they’d all done back at the academy but Arthur always does a lighter version of what they’d been taught. They’re eating a lot less calories than they should be and Arthur doesn’t want anybody overdoing it by burning calories that they desperately need to keep. He focuses on stretches and working up a bit of a sweat, but he never pushes their group to do more than they should.

But it’s nice to do the exercise as a group and oddly enough, none of them ask to take the lead and they seem happy to be led by Arthur. It’s strange at first because Arthur’s nothing but a lowly Lieutenant. Over time, he gets to know more of their regular participants and many of them outrank him and have more respectable military careers than Arthur—which isn’t hard because Arthur’s is practically non-existent—but all of them defer to Arthur as the leader of their little exercise group.

The dynamic also allows Merlin to continue feeling comfortable, despite being surrounded by Camelotian military personnel. Merlin’s presence is non-negotiable and any member of their group who makes snide comments or gives Merlin dirty looks is instantly banned from further participation. Merlin had insisted that Arthur didn’t need to have such a rule, but Arthur had ignored his fussing.

“We’re the founding members of our exercise group,” he’d explained. “If anybody doesn’t like it, they can make their own group.”

* * *

A month later, Arthur has officially spent 6 months in prison and it’s also time for their block’s decontamination. Unlike the prisoner decontamination, which takes place monthly, the blocks are only cleaned every few months.

The Ealdorian announcement comes over the loudspeakers, announcing that the entire prison’s decontamination will take place in seven hours. There’s the usual dire warning that nobody is to be in the corridor during the cleaning, which Arthur tunes out halfway through, since he already knows the procedure.

Their exercise group usually meets twice a day and Arthur goes around Block 3, announcing what time they’ll meet up so everybody will have plenty of time to get back into their cubbies before the cleaning starts.

Merlin’s quiet for most of the day and he looks paler than he usually does, but Arthur’s demands to know what’s wrong are greeted with a fake, strained smile and Merlin’s declaration that he’s fine. Merlin has even more trouble than usual following the exercise routine but Arthur doesn’t comment on it.

Seven hours later, the decontamination alarm is loudly echoing around the prison with the Ealdorian robot voice counting down from fifty and there’s the constant metallic clanging sound as thousands of prisoners all climb up to their cubbies.

Arthur and Merlin are already in their cubby, lying head first with their legs pulled up as much as possible. They’ve both taken off their shirts and wrapped them around their bare feet. The chemicals that are used during the block decontamination are corrosive and nearly everybody has experienced the unpleasant burning when their feet or even worse, their faces catch some of the spraying chemical mist during the cleaning.

As long as his and Merlin’s feet are covered and they’re facing the inside of the cubby, they should be fine. It’s the first time Arthur’s been through the procedure while sharing his cubby and he keeps fussing with his and Merlin’s legs to make sure their feet are properly covered and their knees up drawn up to block as much of the cubby opening as possible. Their knees block the light from the corridor and it’s oddly cozy to be crammed together with Merlin in their tiny cubby with the only source of light coming from the dim glow of the dispenser behind their heads.

The robotic voice continues counting down and Arthur’s so busy making sure they’ll be comfortable for the two hour duration of the cleaning that he fails to notice that Merlin’s not alright until the cleaning’s just about to start.

Merlin’s eyes are squeezed shut and his breathing is panicked. One of his arms is lying in the space between them and his other hand is tightly gripping his trousers, looking like he’s about to tear them.

Frowning, Arthur stares across the few inches separating them as he’s lying on his back, his heart pounding. “Alright, enough of the rubbish. What’s wrong? Tell me or I’ll chuck you outside.”

The alarm is continuing to blare and there’s the hissing sound of multiple sprinklers turning on, spraying the strong disinfectant all over the corridor and the surface of the cubbies, covering every inch.

Merlin’s breathing continues speeding up and his jaw clenches. He whispers something in Ealdorian, his voice faint and scared. For the first time in his life, Arthur’s cursing the fact that he can’t speak Ealdorian and he needs to force Merlin to use another language so they can communicate.

“Say it in Camelotian,” he demands, his throat tight with panic.

Merlin lets out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t like small spaces,” he mumbles.

Instantly, Arthur understands. The coziness that he’s currently enjoying isn’t cozy in Merlin’s eyes. Lying crammed together and head first with their knees pulled up to block off the opening is a completely different atmosphere from what it’s usually like. Arthur doesn’t bother pointing out that Merlin’s usually fine using the dispenser. That process only takes a few seconds and then Merlin can turn around again. Now, they’re going to be stuck like this for two hours.

His heart squeezing from panic on Merlin’s behalf, Arthur frantically tries coming up with a way to help. Because he needs to help Merlin. That’s—he _needs_ to help Merlin. Right away. Because Merlin being unhappy, never mind being scared while in Arthur’s presence isn’t right and it needs to be fixed immediately.

Arthur thinks it’s a bit odd that he’s feeling so concerned over Merlin. It’s something he’s noticed previously, but he’s always dismissed those instances as being a normal reaction due to Merlin’s lack of fighting experience. This situation’s different, yet Arthur still desperately wants to help Merlin and make him feel better.

For a moment, Arthur thinks that perhaps this is a problem and perhaps he should be examining it more closely...but then he dismisses all of that. Right now, he needs to help Merlin feel better.

His heart racing, he frantically tries to come up with a way to distract Merlin. They don’t have many tools available, but he’ll do what he can. Reaching across the tiny space between them, Arthur grabs hold of Merlin’s hand, the contrasting lights on their bracelets much brighter in the dim lighting. “Merlin, open your eyes.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Merlin parts his lips as if he’s about to complain, but then he lets out a quiet whine and opens his eyes. Arthur’s heart skips a beat because he realizes Merlin’s only following his order because he trusts Arthur. That means Arthur can’t fail and he won’t. He _won’t._

Merlin’s eyes are wide and scared, brimmed with tears and his breathing is still too rapid. Arthur lays his hand on the floor next to Merlin’s. “Look at our bracelets. Focus on the lights.”

It takes a while for Merlin’s eyes to stop bouncing around the cramped interior of the cubby and focus on the glowing lights of their bracelets. “Why am I looking at them?”

“I’m going to tell you a pattern and you have to follow that pattern by tapping on the right surfaces. Ready?”

Merlin mumbles an Ealdorian curse, followed by: “I’m not in the mood to—”

Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand. “You need a distraction and I’m giving it to you. Ready? Loosen your other hand from your trousers because you’ll need that hand to tap out the pattern.”

After Merlin brings his other shaking hand up to his chest, Arthur nods. “Here we go. Red, red, green, white.”

Merlin frowns. “Where the hell is white?”

“Oh, I don’t know. What’s white around here? It can’t possibly be the entire cubby surface, can it?”

That makes Merlin chuckle. It sounds shaky and strained, but it’s a chuckle. “Less attitude, Lieutenant Silly Dragon. I can’t concentrate.”

“Try harder.”

“It’s your fault, you damn Camey. Repeat the bloody pattern again, I forgot.”

“Red, red, green, white. Do we need to go over where the white is again?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m about to chuck you outside.” Then he’s dutifully tapping on his red bracelet twice, then on Arthur’s green one and then the white floor beneath them.

“Good. Green, white, white, red, green, white.”

Without complaint, Merlin taps on all the right surfaces. Arthur gradually increases the difficulty level so Merlin won’t feel insulted, but he never points out if Merlin gets something wrong since that’s not the point of the exercise. Sometimes the spraying sound outside gets louder as the mechanical arms with the attached nozzles sweep past their cubby, but Arthur ignores it. He doesn’t want to do anything to remind Merlin of anything that’s not their bracelets or the cubby floor.

He carefully watches Merlin’s face as they continue and his breathing gradually calms and his eyes lose that fearful look as he focuses on tapping on various surfaces, rather than his cramped surroundings. As Merlin calms down, so does that panicked feeling in Arthur’s heart. It’s replaced by a warm glow that’s making his lips want to curl into a content smile.

Even more alarming, Arthur can’t stop staring at Merlin’s naked chest. Of course, Merlin’s thinner than he should be but Arthur’s stomach twists at all that smooth skin on display and his hands itch to touch. As soon as he thinks about that, his thoughts immediately veer off to think about touching other parts of Merlin or how Arthur would love to kiss that chest and what sounds Merlin would make...which means it’s time to slam the door on all those thoughts. Immediately. Because Arthur needs to be focused on keeping Merlin distracted with appropriate activities. Not...inappropriate activities.

Once they get bored of doing patterns, they play word association games and they take turns asking each other questions about Ealdor or Camelot, seeing how much they know about each other’s planets. It’s a bit unfair because Merlin’s spent a lot more time dealing with Camelot than Arthur has with Ealdor. But for once, Arthur doesn’t mind losing. In fact, he likes it when his guesses make Merlin laugh. He can’t remember if he’s ever been this relaxed about losing in some type of competition. Hopefully, that has nothing to do with Merlin’s happy laugh or the way his face lights up with amusement whenever Arthur makes a ridiculous guess about something he knows nothing about.

Hopefully not...but the two things are most likely connected. And again...that’s a problem.

By the time the two hour cleaning is finished and the announcement comes that everybody is free to move around the prison again and Merlin’s quickly sliding out of the cubby, Arthur’s forced to come to an unfortunate conclusion.

His feelings for Merlin are definitely going to be a problem. But how to solve that problem is still a mystery.


End file.
